


Curiosity Killed The Mood

by Helianthus21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU where Dean's brain is still functioning in bed with Cas, Cas' dirty talk is just poetic rambling about how beautiful Dean is, Crack, Dean learning other languages through Cas' dirty talk, Language Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-18 08:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14209695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helianthus21/pseuds/Helianthus21
Summary: based on mytumblr post: Cas speaking other languages in bed is fun and all until Dean stops in the middle of sex to look up what Cas is saying in a dictionary





	Curiosity Killed The Mood

Tragically, the first time it happens, there isn’t a single useful book in the room. Which leaves Dean walking all the way to the library, naked from his head down to his toes.

Never mind that he’d left behind an equally naked Cas writhing on their bed with unrelieved tension.

Needless to say, Castiel is not amused.

When Dean finally returns, it is with a dictionary in hand, a grin on his face and cock softened to half-hardness. Cas lets out an indignant whine that doesn’t seem to faze Dean at all.

“ _‘Light of my life’_ , huh?” He’s quoting Cas’ words, translated from the Romanian that slipped out of Cas’ mouth in the midst of ecstasy.

Cas scowls at Dean’s still sweat-glistening torso. “You could’ve just asked me what it means.”

Dean jumps back on the bed, straddling Cas’ thighs. “I did,” he claims. “Several times. You weren’t _listening_.”

Cas’ hands bracket Dean by the hips, intent on keeping him from running off another time. “Maybe that’s because I was _preoccupied_ ,” he says, hands coming around to cup Dean’s ass for emphasis. Dean yelps, but the grin on his face is unshakable.

“Is that so,” Dean says slyly. “Shouldn’t be _hard_ to get you in the mood again, then, I wager.” And with that he winks, and moves down Cas chest and...

Cas moans.

"Next time we can just do it in the library,” Dean suggests, a little breathless.

Cas swats a pillow at his face.

***

One minute Dean is bouncing enthusiastically on Cas’ lap, the other Cas finds himself alone on the bed, the weight above his body replaced by nothing more than cool air.

Through the litany of curses he internally hurls towards Dean, he hears a series of quick little steps, and the turn of pages.

Then: “I take it, it’s funnier in Enochian?”

“Dean.”

***

_“Ton âme m’éclaire plus que le soleil du matin.”_

The body above Cas’ stills. Cas opens his eyes. “Dean, what?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Uh, what?”

“What did’ ya just say, man?”

Head falling back onto the pillow, Cas lets out an impatient sigh. “I don’t know, just – _move_!”

It’s the wrong thing to say, Cas knows instantly. Because Dean pulls out and skips out of Castiel’s reach to access the big array of dictionaries he’s set up in the corner of their room, leaving Cas staring up at the ceiling and brooding over where he went wrong in his life. Waiting has never felt so long – and he spent centuries watching the formation of the Vatnajökull glacier.

“Deeaaan!” he whines, but Dean is still thumbing through the collection of books, trying to find the right language combination. “French,” Cas says. “ _It’s French!_ Dean, please come back here.”

“Eeee-claaair,” Dean mumbles in broken French. “There. _Âme_ means soul, right? Got that one. Oh!” He looks up to Cas from where he’s crouched down with the book in his lap, the dimmed light creating mesmerizing art with the contours of Dean’s body. (Cas gets the sudden urge to paint him like this. But he doesn’t get up and gather his brushes, right, because who does that in the middle of sex?)

“Aw, hell, you know how to make a guy blush, Cas.”

“I’d like it more if I knew how to keep you in bed,” Cas retorts testily.

“Your fault if you keep babbling like this. Gotta know if you’re not gossiping behind my back!”

“I don’t ‘babble’. And besides, it can hardly be ‘behind your back’ if you’re right in front of me,” Cas argues.

“Actually, it can, if you wanna be literal about it...”

“Dean.”

Dean chuckles. “So, I’ll just–” Discarding the book, he strides back to their bed and plops on his back, makes a move to drag Cas over him. But Cas protests.

“No, the edge is off. I don’t want to anymore, you ruined it,” Cas complains. In the pettiest corner of his mind, he might even admit that he thinks it serves Dean right to suffer the same way he’s made Cas suffer all these times.

He pulls Dean closer all the same, curling up flush against him and burying his head into his stomach. Dean, resigning himself to his fate, lets himself be molded into a human cushion.

“Geez, didn’t know you were such a big sex baby.”

Cas mumbles something inaudible against Dean’s skin, hoping it won’t induce Dean to try and translate the nonsensical non-words with the help of a special dictionary. Maybe his collection includes this mysterious volume of _Castiel–English, English–Castiel_ that Dean’s been teasing him about. Castiel still doesn’t believe in its existence, but stranger things have happened.

Finally, he moves his face so only his cheek is pressed against Dean’s stomach, allowing for better intelligibility. “It is not important, because I’m not going to speak at all from now on. In _any_ language.”

“Right,” Dean chuckles as if he knew something Castiel doesn’t. “Like you can.”

“I will not make a sound.”

“Mm-hm.”

***

Castiel is very persistent by nature. He was venerated by his garrison as the angel with the best “pokerface”, as Dean would say. Never twitched a feather no matter the distraction, no matter the pain inflicted on his form by foes in the futile attempt to sift out Heaven’s secrets.

But Dean Winchester may be the one person to hold a candle to this specific brand of stubbornness.

His thrusts have pinpoint precision, his kisses along Cas’ neck are blissful torture, and the interplay of all these sublime sensations almost make Castiel forget why he is keeping his lips pressed closed, why he is trying to muffle his own groans.

“Right there, huh,” Dean teases. His damp hair is sticking to his forehead, the tattoo on his chest stands out bright against the flush that has spread there from exertion, and he is beautiful.

Another drawn-out thrust sends happy tears to the corners of Cas’ eyes. He loves this, he loves Dean, he–

“ _Olani hoath ol_.”

The words burst through the barricades that make up Cas’ willpower, his need to share them stronger and more coercive than any of his age-old restraint.

Instantly, Dean presses a hand to Castiel’s chest, shoves at him in a gesture that urges Cas to look at him. Their eyes lock, the warm earthy green around Dean’s pupil shining with wonder.

A heavy sigh leaves Cas’ lungs.

No use protesting, that would only prolong the process.

So he stretches out his arm towards the nightstand, where his foresightedness had left the Enochian handbook to keep it a little more handy for a less time-consuming intermission.

But Dean swats his hand away.

“No need,” he says, a soft smile painting his own intimate devotion clear on his face. “I know that one.”

He bends down to capture Cas’ lips in a deep kiss.

And stays right where he is.

***

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“ _Olani hoath ol, too_.”

Castiel’s deep chuckles send vibrations through both their bodies.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks again to perfackles (coconutice22) for being so kind to proofread this silly fic and saawek for helping with the French sentence and making it more romantic and Cas-like. The Enochian I googled, so no guarantees for that..


End file.
